


every rose has its thorns

by glundergun (cleardishwashers)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Dennis is a Bastard Man, Established Relationship, Flowers, M/M, so many goddamn flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 00:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleardishwashers/pseuds/glundergun
Summary: mac and dennis buy each other flowers.(the title makes it sound very angsty and i swear it's not)





	every rose has its thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skiesbelow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiesbelow/gifts).

> big thanks to iia (viggiomorgensteine/veganglenn on tumblr) for preventing my ass from having a complete mental breakdown and jenna for betaing!!! would die for u both

It starts innocently enough. Dennis swings by a florist’s shop on the way home one day, and he picks up a bouquet of roses and baby’s breath, just because. Also, he’s really not in the mood to watch Predator for the twenty-fifth time that month, and maybe the roses will sway Mac’s inclinations from Jesse Ventura to Dolph Lundgren. Either way, Dennis comes home holding thirty dollars’ worth of flowers, and he walks into the living room to find Mac presenting him with an even bigger bouquet. “Why’d _ you _ get me flowers?” Dennis asks him.

“Well, because I love you,” Mac says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Oh, Dennis is going to play him like a fiddle. “Why’d _ you _ get _ me _flowers?”

“Well, because I— I also love you, obviously,” Dennis tells him. “Can’t a man do something nice for his— his, uh—” They never really decided on a _ name _ for it, so…

“Lover,” Mac suggests.

“No, that’s too— you know.”

“Bone bro.”

“Wh— do you have no concept of middle ground?”

“Uh… bed bud?”

“I’m pretty sure Frank and Charlie call each other their bed buds.”

“Oh. Gross. Uh… oh, what about jizz—”

“Nothing with jizz, please! Let’s just go with, like, partner, or some shit.”

“Yeah, but _ partner _ kinda makes it sound like we’re lawyers, and lawyers are douches.”

_ “You’re _ a douche.”

“Wh— my bouquet is literally bigger than yours!”

“Quality over quantity, bitch!”

Mac snorts. “Dennis, those flowers are so obviously less expensive than mine.”

“It’s not a competition!”

“I mean, you kinda made it a competition, though.”

“Are you— _ you _ were the one who did that!” Dennis exclaims.

Mac furrows his brow. “Shit, I guess I did.”

“Just—” Dennis thrusts the bouquet at Mac. “Love you, asshole.”

“Nuh-uh. No way. You take my bouquet first.”

Dennis closes his eyes for a second, just to make sure that they’re actually arguing over this instead of something actually important. “Jesus Christ, is this gonna turn into another ‘who’s topping’ argument again?”

“Okay, well, since my _ bouquet _is bigger—”

“God, Mac, with the euphemisms—”

_ “And _ my dick is bigger—”

“Guess I shouldn’t have assumed you know what a euphemism is.”

“Guess I shouldn’t have assumed that you know how much goddamn _ lube _ to use, either, huh?”

“It was _ one time, _ Mac, Jesus—”

“We agreed not to bring Jesus into sex talk!”

“Fine! Sorry! Je— God!”

“That’s not much better—”

“Well, we agreed that God was fine—”

_ “Anyways, _ since my bouquet is bigger _ and _ my dick is bigger, I should obviously top and you should take my bouquet first.”

“Wha— you—”

“I’m right and you know it.”

“Your dick is so not bigger than mine!”

“We literally measured last time!”

Dennis glares at him. His arm is getting kind of sore from angrily holding up the bouquet. “Let’s measure again, then.”

“Are you— it’s _ movie night, _ bro!”

“Put on a porno or something, then!”

“You said you wanted to watch Thundergun tonight!”

Dennis frowns. “What?”

“Yeah, last week or something! I went out and rented Thundergun, asshole!”

“Wait, then what— what were the flowers for? Really?”

Realization dawns on Mac’s face, and he scowls. “Oh my God, you bought flowers so that you could _ guilt _ me into watching Thundergun? That was a waste of thirty bucks!”

“First off, how do you know how much— you know what? Never mind. It wasn’t a goddamn waste of thirty bucks, I _ like _ buying you shit, you stingy bitch.”

“I literally spent _ fifty _ on this one, who the fuck are you calling stingy—”

_ “Fifty? _ It’s not any anniversary or any—” This time, it’s Dennis’s turn to have a realization. “Oh, goddamnit, Mac, did you use up all my hair gel again?”

Mac looks down at the floor. “Maybe.”

“Come _ on, _ Mac, you know that shit takes forever to arrive! Now I’m gonna have to use your weird— _ guido _ hair gel—”

“First of all, that word’s offensive, second of all, I’m _ sorry—” _

“Oh, Jesus Christ—”

“You used Jesus again!”

“We’re not even talking about sex any more!”

Mac raises his eyebrows and grins slyly. “Would you _ like _ to be talking about sex?”

Dennis acts like he’s contemplating it, because he can’t let Mac think he has _ that _ much power. He pads across the floor and slings his bouquet-less arm around Mac’s neck, pulling him into a kiss, hot and wanton and everything that Dennis has ever needed. He runs his tongue along Mac’s bottom lip and nips lightly, and then he pushes one thigh in between Mac’s legs, feeling Mac stiffen beneath him. Mac moans, fisting his free hand into Dennis’s hair, and then Dennis pulls back and grins at him— his hair is mussed, his lips are pink, and he looks like a goddamn wreck. “Will you take my bouquet first?”

Mac blinks a few times. “Oh, that is— that is _ not _ fair. Fuck you.” He scowls, and for a few seconds, Dennis thinks he’s lost the battle, and then Mac rips the flowers out of his hand, places both bouquets on the table, and practically tackles Dennis onto the couch. He surges down to kiss Dennis again, and Dennis grins into Mac’s mouth, and then Mac’s biting at his neck and Dennis’s mind has melted into a puddle of _ goddamn, Mac, _ and Mac murmurs, “I’m topping, bitch,” and Dennis barely has the resolve to nod before Mac is unbuttoning his shirt to get at his collarbone.

…

Dennis had thought that that’d be the end of it— it was a win-win for both of them, and the flowers looked good mixed together in the same vase, even though it’s a shitty vase that they stole from Dee ten years ago that probably has more chips than clear spots. But when he walks into the bar to find his sister, Charlie, and Mac arguing, he has the sinking feeling that _ no, _ he hasn’t heard the last of it. “What the hell is going on?” he asks, feeling a headache already brewing behind his eyes.

“If you didn’t want us to see them, you shouldn’t have sent them to the bar, idiot!” Dee yells.

“I don’t care if you see them or smell them or jack off to a photo of them, I just don’t appreciate you _ spoiling _ the surprise!” Mac yells back. “They literally had a card on them that said, ‘SURPRISE!’”

“Is this more goddamn flowers, Mac?” Dennis interjects, the pressure in his head building even more.

_ “Yes, _ it’s more goddamn flowers! The _ bird _ here decided to send a photo of them to the group chat and— wait, why are you asking?”

“I haven’t _ checked _ the group chat, because you took the charger when you left and my phone is dead.”

Dee snickers. “You two only have one charger?”

“Well, that’s because _ Mac _ fucked my charger up when he tried to do that weird almost-reverse-cowgirl thing—”

“Ew!”

“How did you fuck a charger _ and _ Dennis at the same time?” Charlie asks.

“Wh— he wasn’t— wait, why do you assume that _ he _ was fucking _ me?” _

“Well, c’mon, dude, look at him, and then look at yourself.”

“Yeah, Den, look at me.” Mac gestured to his general self. 

“Okay, first of all, that’s stereotyping—”

“You had no problem with it last night!”

“Okay, I’m just gonna stop this here,” Dee says, looking vaguely nauseated. “I just want to know how you managed to bust up a charger while— you know.”

“It’s a long story,” Dennis says, at the same time that Mac says, “Well, _ he _ was wearing the ropes—”

“I’m fine with Dennis’s answer!” Dee says. “Let’s leave it at that!”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to deal with you people anymore, so—” Dennis walks over to the back office, and as soon as he opens the door, he catches sight of the huge, purple _ monstrosity _ sitting atop the desk. He shuts the door. “Mac?”

“Yeah?”

“What the _ fuck _ is in there?”

“Dude, flowers!”

“There’s, like, a _ hundred _ goddamn flowers in there! You’re gonna blow our whole budget on _ flowers?!” _

Dee raises her eyebrows. “You guys have a _ joint budget? _ How old are you, fifty?”

“We’re the same goddamn age, Deandra!”

“Eh, it was still a pretty good burn,” Charlie pipes up.

“Charlie, shut _ up,” _ Mac snaps. “Den, I had a few extra bucks, so calm down. We’re not gonna go broke. And if we did, we could just ask Frank for money.”

“Yeah, where _ is _ Frank?” Dee asks.

“Zumba. Y’know, _ I’m _ the one who suggested Zumba—”

“Charlie, please bitch about Frank later!” Dennis exclaims. “Where the hell did you get _ a few extra bucks?” _

“Oh my God, did you blow some trucker guy?” Dee asks, her voice filled with more glee than should be necessary.

“No! I just lifted a few twenties from Frank’s wallet, Jesus!”

“Good,” Dennis says, and the venom in it falls flat because, well, they _ are _ nice flowers.

…

Of course, the fact that they’re nice flowers just makes Dennis want to one-up Mac even more, so he commissions a flower arch for every doorway in their place. It cost a _ lot _ more than he’d expected, and Frank’s advancing senility only yielded so much stolen cash before the old man had caught on, but Dennis had paid, and now, foot-thick bundles of flowers decorate the apartment.

He’d kind of underestimated how much pollen there’d be, though, and he’d kind of forgotten how annoying Mac’s allergies could be on really hot days. So when Mac comes in, a sweaty mess, and sees the flowers, instead of getting a _ thank you, _ Dennis gets a “oh, _ goddamn—” _ and then Mac sneezes hard enough that Dennis is quite honestly surprised he didn’t get a bloody nose then and there. “Oh, goddamn, Den, it’s, like, a hundred degrees out, you _ know _ how my allergies get—”

“Yeah, goddamnit, I _ know, _ Mac. I just— I didn’t realize it was gonna be this hot, and I was kinda planning on taking you to an _ air-conditioned _ dinner, and _ you _ were the one who decided to go to the gym instead and then _ run _ back—”

“Y’know, this?” Mac motions back and forth between the two of them. “This is killing any—” he sneezes again, just as violent, and Dennis passes him the tissue box from off the coffee table— “god_damn, _ any _ romance _ that you were planning.” Mac blows his nose into a Kleenex, and it sounds like a fucking elephant, and when he lifts his head his nose is just the slightest bit red at the tip and it’s much— well, _ cuter _ is the only appropriate word— than it has any right to be. Dennis should really, really be used to this feeling in his stomach by now— after all, it’s been twenty-five years— but he’s _ not, _ and it’s Mac’s fault, really, so by extension it’s Mac’s own fault that he’s sneezing his brains out.

“Well, I’m not the one who has allergies up the ass,” Dennis says.

“You _ cannot _ be blaming me for having allergies. And— _ fuck—” _ Mac lets loose another sneeze— “and I only get them when there’s bad air quality, anyways, so—”

“Just sit down, idiot, I’ll get the Allegra.”

“No, you took all that last week and then you thought you were a bird,” Mac says, in between loud sniffles.

“I bought some more on Thursday, gimme a second,” Dennis says, rifling through the cabinets.

“Yeah, I took that,” Mac says, and when Dennis turns around to glare accusingly, he’s wearing a half-reproachful expression that suggests he’s only sorry because it landed him here. “My bad.”

“Oh my— well, what, do you want me to go out and buy some goddamn Allegra, then?”

“Just— nah, leave it,” Mac says, blowing his nose again. “God_damn.” _

Dennis crosses the room and plops down on the couch next to Mac, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close, snot and sweat and gross guido hair gel be damned. “You know, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that I forgot to check the air quality thing.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mac says, yawning. His head slips down from Dennis’s shoulder onto his lap. “I’m going to take a nap, and I have the right to take a nap right the fuck here because you’re the one who made my body do this to me.”

Mac’s out within two minutes, and even though Dennis can’t get up to take a piss for the next three hours, he has his phone and a charger (brand new, courtesy of Frank’s twenty-dollar bills and the Wawa) and Mac’s head resting on his lap, so it’s a win-win.

…

Mac is exceptionally grin-y through dinner (Chinese takeout) and dessert (Cheesecake Factory takeout) and a couch makeout session (almost ruined by Mac’s foot pushing the Chinese takeout box until it’s a millimeter from falling off the table), and when Dennis fumbles open the bedroom door while Mac’s teeth do something really, really nice to his neck, he realizes _ why. _ He also realizes that Mac might be more of an asshole than he thought previously, because their bedroom is _ stuffed— _ like, wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling— with flower-filled balloons. “Ma-ac,” Dennis says, in a voice that’s approaching a whine (but only because Mac has not ceased his ministrations, despite the depraved state of their room), “what the _ fuck _ is this?”

Mac looks up, his warm breath still ghosting over Dennis’s skin, raising the hairs there. “What the _ fuck?” _

“Are you saying that you _ don’t _ know how this happened?”

Mac takes a step back, surveying the room. “Uh… what was _ supposed _ to happen was there was supposed to be a nice carpet of rose petals on the ground. Not—”

“Not having our room be absolutely goddamn packed full of balloons with rose petals inside of them?”

“Yeah.”

Dennis squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe when he opens them the balloons will be gone and he can go get laid. He opens them again. The balloons are still present. “Jesus _ fuck, _ Mac.”

“We can pop them?” Mac suggests, his face scrunched up into a grimace.

“And then we’ll have to deal with latex and roses all over the place! And _ don’t _ make a joke about the latex, Mac, I already can’t—” He pokes one of the balloons. It doesn’t budge.

“They are really packed in there, huh,” Mac says. “We could screw on the couch?”

Dennis glares at him. They both know how badly _ that _ went last time.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“And both of us can’t _ sleep _ on the couch, so… I guess we’ll have to sleep next to the goddamn dildo bike.”

“First of all—”

“It’s a dildo bike, Mac! By definition!”

“Okay, well, _ second _ of all, I don’t like mixing rest with exercise, so…”

“Mac, I swear to God, I will slap you.”

“Okay! Fine! We’ll sleep next to the dildo bike!”

“Mac?”

“Yeah, Den?”

“No more flowers. _ Please.” _

“Yeah. Yep.”

“Good.”

“We could still have sex on the couch.”

“Y’know, having my room filled up with weird balloons is _ kind of _ a boner-killer. Who goddamn knew?”

“Well, you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I absolutely do.”

“Eh.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! my iasip tumblr is @glundergun :))


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